Journal
by Kerrz
Summary: [oneshot] Colin is acting strange and Finn is determined to figure out why. SLASH FinnColin


**Warnings**: Slash and OOC situations, and though I tried to avoid it, some character OOC-ness as well. Though not too much, I hope.

**Pairing**: Well, Finn/Colin. Apparently.

**Disclaimer**: If the GG universe was mine Finn and Colin would be together and Michel would wear frilly pink dresses. Really. But, (and some would say fortunately) it isn't, Colin and Finn will not make out on international television and Michel can keep his suit. For now.

**A/n**: This is written over the course of around 2 week's time at around 2 in the night while listening to Chopin. It's bound to be crazy.

I'm not all that fond of this story for some reason, but I had to post it seeing as the world lacks Finn/Colin fiction severely.

Oh, and Adonis is mine. I needed some character who only knew Colin and not Finn, and since there are no characters on the show that we know of who fulfils that requirement I had to make someone up. Don't worry she doesn't even make an actual appearance.

---

You actually had to remind yourself that you were straight when he told you and Logan that he'd met the love of this life. He didn't exactly use the word 'love' very often and definitely not about a girlfriend. Family yes, friends maybe, but never about his numerous conquests.

It seemed serious too. After all he had dumped you and Logan to run off with her to Amsterdam or Copenhagen or wherever the hell it was; you really couldn't be bothered to remember. All you knew was that he had apparently fallen in love with her, or so he claimed, and that you were, for some strange, unexplainable reason bothered by that particular fact.

You didn't believe it though. The only reason she actually liked him was because she couldn't speak or understand English, therefore couldn't know what a heartless ass he was. Well, that was what you told yourself anyway.

You had no right to complain; you had, after all, been the indirect cause of their meeting. If it hadn't been for you begging your mates to go drinking that exact night he wouldn't have met her and then he'd still be here with you.

It's not even that he hasn't done it before, running off from spending quality time with the boys to be with some random no-name – hell; you've even done it yourself a few times. But you've never been this bothered by it before. In fact, you've never been bothered by it, period.

You're not stupid, no matter what people seem to think; you're just in denial. He has no right to mean so much to you – not when the meaning of life is all about booze and women. Love is just not something you _do_. You're pretty sure you're not supposed to be afraid of him getting into a serious relationship with a girl. You're not supposed to feel this feeling of... is it jealousy?

Of course, when he actually did come home it definitely did not look as though "love of my life" had been the exact phrase to use, more like "annoyance of my life". Despite him being commonly older in behaviour than you, you know that he can be slightly naïve. What else had he expected her to do in a different country, miles away from home, but to follow him around like a lovesick puppy?

As far as you remember he sent her home, though, and on his own expense, no less. Really, he isn't such a bad guy despite his outwardly appearance. You should know. You have, after all been friends for a very long time. He is a... very special person. One of your best friends.

"Finn?"

You jump so suddenly that you actually fall off the arm of the chair, on which you were perched only half a second ago. You hadn't heard him enter the apartment and approach you, too lost in your own thoughts. He would probably laugh if he had known that it was him who had preoccupied your mind – he'd, of course, never know, making your current awkward position on the floor the only thing available to laugh at.

"Present!" you reply, sending him a fake grin, something you've been doing more and more often, and he returns it with a half-smile, one eyebrow lifted slightly. You simply shrug back a him, and your smile turns a bit more real.

"Why, pray tell, are you on the floor?" His voice is filled with barely contained amusement, but his eyes seem to deceive him, somehow. They reflect tiredness, but you're too far away to see them clearly.

"I was attacked by a carnivorous chair," you reply with a pout on your lips for good measure.

He shakes his head slightly and you know that he thinks you're crazy. "Attacked," he echoes, incredulously. His eyes are filled with something akin to amusement now as well, and you think that maybe what you saw before wasn't really there at all.

"Precisely," you exclaim, getting up on your feet.

"I assume we will then have to buy new furniture?"

"Oh, you will jump at anything to refurnish our apartment, won't you?" you tease, running a hand through your hair, messing it up. "Housewife."

His eyes changes and now that you're closer to him you can definitely see the coldness. "Excuse me?" He sounds somewhat more pissed off than usual, though he's said the sentence more times than you can count on one hand, although always in fun. This time there's a slightly icy edge to his voice.

"You okay, mate?" you ask, wide-eyed.

"Fine!" he answers sharply, and clears his throat. "Fine," he repeats with a little less 'enthusiasm'. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, fact is that when you actually do take your time to bite at me, the remarks are usually some which degrade my otherwise charming and attractive being." With a half-ironic smile you sit back down on the chair and put your feet on one arm, your head on the other. "This was not one of those." Frowning, you look up at him and then after a beat, "PMS, is it?"

He's quiet for a long while, staring at you blankly, before suddenly turning on his heel and practically storming off into his room. You stare after him puzzled, but judging by the force with which he shuts the door you do not want to face his wrath right now. He's rarely pissed, but when he is it's not to be taken lightly.

You can't, for the life of you figure out why he is pissed. You're fairly certain it wasn't something you did, though you can never be sure. You have a habit of pissing people off unknowingly after all.

Maybe you'll sleep on it. Or well, drink on it and _then _sleep on it.

---

The next morning it seems you're actually first to show your face to the walls of the living room, despite it being late afternoon, which is why you strongly doubt that he is still asleep, seeing as you were the one who was drunk yesterday night. He may just be hiding away, you reason.

Suddenly, as if he can somehow read your mind, the door opens, and Colin comes out with his shoes and jacket on. "I'm going by Adonis' to pick up some notes," he says, and grabs his cell, which he had left on the kitchen table yesterday. "Need anything?"

You look at him, confused at his sudden not-so-pissed behaviour, but decides that yesterdays act of craziness was just a side effect from the lack of sleep. "No," you answer simply with raised eyebrows.

"Nothing?"

You stroke your chin, pretending to look thoughtful. "Well," you say, "If you, by any chance, stumble across a realistically sized plastic cow with black spots whose name is coincidentally Karen, will you please take it back with you?"

"Of course, Finn," he answers without missing a beat. "If I, by any chance, do that, I will bring it back to you."

"Thank you, I've always wanted to play cowboy."

He looks at you, amused, but he doesn't say anything else, only turns around and leaves, shutting the door behind him much more carefully than he did with his own poor door yesterday.

Well, what to do now. You're up and about, and you're pretty sure that after resting for 15 straight hours you won't be able to fall asleep again, so you have to find yourself something entertaining to do.

Maybe you should investigate Colin's room for traces of why he was so pissed yesterday. It will probably piss him off even further if he finds out, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

You get up, tip-toeing into his room, because that's what real detectives do. You almost wish you had a magnifier, just for the fun of it, but the only thing you have that even resembles one is the reading glasses you won from Robert in a game of pool, and they just aren't good enough. Sneaking into Colin's room requires divine strength, a massive amount of courage, excessive intelligence and godlike tools. All of which has so generously been bestowed upon you.

Once inside you let out a breath, and throw a hand in the air in victory. This time you didn't need all of the abilities that you posses, but next time you're certain that the requirements will be... required.

Suddenly something catches your eye and you grin and sit down on his bed next to the tempting object. If Colin was a little more careful he would not have left a black book on his bed. Maybe he didn't expect you to enter his room while he was gone, but still... If he didn't want it to be read he would have hid it better. That's what you do. You would not have left a _black _book on _white_ bed sheets. Does he not know how curious you are?

You position yourself comfortably on the bed, and open the book to page one.

_"I'm going to start off by stating a few facts. Firstly this is not something I usually do. Secondly this was a gift from Rory, and though I just told merely I'd use it out of courtesy I guess that wasn't the truth. I do believe this to be a nice way to vent some of this anger._

_I will not start this entry out with something that even bears the slightest resemblance to "dear diary", and I refuse to call it anything but a "journal". Actually I refuse to call it anything other than a piece of paper. Everything else it way too feminine, and if there is anything I'm not, it's that._

_It's doesn't matter that the whole reason I'm writing in this stupid book is that I'm in love with Finn, oh no. I refuse to be stereotypical. And I am not gay. I am a firm believer in the saying that falling in love with one man does not make you gay. Besides, for some reason coming to terms with the fact that he is a man is not as difficult as coming to terms with the fact that he is Finn._

_I don't know if it is love or something different, however. Love and I don't exactly go hand in hand, and falling in love with one of my best friends is not something I usually find myself doing. I haven't tried it so often. Katrina wasn't real; of course not. Even I knew that. She was, undoubtedly, amazing, but that only lasted for so long. She wasn't the love of my life; it was the "fame" it brought. It was a naive move, to believe that she would be the same at home, but well... hindsight is so easy to exercise._

_Despite that, I do believe, that the thing that I feel for Finn is real. Unfortunately, I'll almost say. Not that he is not a great guy or anything like that; he's just a womanizer. Regardless of what some people seem to believe he does not swing both ways – that much I know. I do believe I've even heard him say it once._

_It doesn't stop my heart from racing whenever I see him however. I guess that's why I've been picking up more women too lately – to either make or for the loss or to try to convince myself that I am not in love with him – the latter, which seems to be an impossible feat to achieve._

_I've been so pissed off about it too. I keep asking myself why this has to happen to me. I'm sure that Finn suspects that _something _is wrong with me but he hasn't, hopefully, any idea what. It's just so strong that I can't ignore it, however much I try, and I'm trying so hard that it pisses me off!_

_I received a letter from Adonis today too, regarding this unfortunate subject, which is one of the reasons I'm in an exceptionally bad mood today. Apparently Logan_ _suspects something is wrong too. And well, if she can get this from just hearing Logan_ _talk about my behavior, there must be something to it..._

_"Okay, so hi Colin._

_Today I overheard the absolutely adorable Logan_ _Huntzberger (if only I wasn't engaged) mentioning the names Colin and Finn, which, naturally, aroused my interest, since I've heard those names. Turned to him, asked him what he was saying. It seems you have been acting strange lately._

_As you may or may not realize, I too has caught more than a few signs from you and seeing as I am an amazing judge of character – not to flatter myself or anything – I have come to the conclusion that you're in love. With Finn._

_Please correct me if I'm wrong. Although I have a feeling I'm not._

_Have a nice day,  
__Adonis."_

_I wonder if the fact that he is one of the only stable factors in my life is a valid explanation? My father isn't exactly, and has never been home a whole lot. And with the absence of my mother, and serious girlfriend in my life I've never had anyone close to me. Logan and Finn were some of my first real friends, and even then Finn is the one to whom I'm closest._

_God, if only it wasn't Finn! He's so infuriatingly frustrating._

_Well, I suppose I'll have to stop writing now; notes don't pick themselves up, after all."_

Suddenly it hits you as lightning from a clear sky. You want him too and you don't think you've ever actually wanted anyone this way before. It's a complicated feeling, although it does explains your previous feeling of jealousy very well. It's weird. But in a good way really.

Wait... You're frustrating?

Suddenly there's a rustle by the door and Colin's "honey, I'm home!" echoes through the apartment. You barely have time to think before reflexively throwing the "journal" back down on the bed and leaping over to the other side of the room.

"Finn?" Colin inquires, upon entering, and you try your best to look innocently nonchalant. "What are you doing in my room?" He crosses his arms over his chest, taking up a defensive stance.

"Well, I just..." You trail off, uncertainly, trying to come up with a valid excuse. "I have reasons to believe that my shirt is in here." Not exactly the best of reasons, since you probably wouldn't have wandered into his room without permission just to retrieve a shirt – if only because laziness would win, and you would have persuaded him to it for you. But it's got to be good enough.

"And how should it have gotten in here? Crawled?" He hangs his jacket into the closet next to which you're standing. "I would not take your shirt, I assure you." Despite his casualty, however, his voice sounds somewhat strained.

"Well," you insist, "I do believe it is in here somewhere."

He shrugs. "Go ahead and look then," he says simply, and sits down on his bed with some kind of schoolbook. "I'm almost a hundred percent sure you won't find it in here, though."

After a few minutes of pretending to be looking, you notice him eyeing you, cautiously out of the corner of his eye, while he pretends to be studying. You decide that you definitely need some kind of alcohol on top of this newly discovered, supposed-to-be secret, and you straighten up, looking triumphant. "Oh," you say and grip the shirt you're wearing. "Here it is. Told you it'd be here!"

He looks at you in disbelief. "Finn, that's the one you're wearing."

"I didn't say it was gone, I just said I knew it would be in here."

He blinks, raising his hands in aggravation. "Because you brought it in here on you," he argues, and you realize that you really have to go drown this... _thing_ in alcohol right about now.

You pause, faking confusion. "So?"

"So, it's..." he begins, uncertainly, and you stare at him, awaiting his reply. Eventually he gives in, and shakes his head. "Okay, never mind. Your mind is a foreign place, which I will never get the hang of."

You nod with a smile, deeply satisfied with the talent for confusing him you seem to have. "If you need me I'll be at the pub."

"Right."

"Au Revoir."

---

It's Rory who brings you back from the pub and inside at 3 o'clock in the night. You're leaning heavily against her when she rings the doorbell, and she practically throws you at Colin once he, clad in his pyjamas, opens the door, looking as though he was asleep. "Rory," he greets her, confused.

She sighs, exasperated, and eyes you in annoyance. "Sorry, if I woke you. He insisted that he didn't have a key on him, and I didn't want to... search his pockets for it." If she was the old, innocent Rory that she has told you that she once was she might have blushed now, but this Rory just rolls her eyes, annoyed.

"It's... it's fine, really," Colin replies, and steadies you as you almost stumble, trying your best to fall asleep on his shoulder. "It's not like it hasn't happened before. It's just been a while since he couldn't even walk by himself."

"He's had a lot." She shakes her head, tiredly. "Well, I should go. I have one more in that condition in the car," she says, and sighs again.

"Good luck with that," Colin says, and he flinches visibly, as you yawn into his neck.

This earns him a stare from Rory, you notice, absently, but she seems to just let it slide with a slightly raised eyebrow. "You too." She lifts a hand in a wave, and turns around, walking out of the hall, most likely looking forward to getting her loving boyfriend home and to bed.

When Colin lets go of you to close the door you almost fall, and he grabs your shirt firmly as he attempts to save you from an unwanted meeting with the floor. You look at him struggling to keep you upright, and you lean back against the wall, in what you consider to be a helpful gesture, and wrap your arms around him, tangling one hand in his hair in the process, for reasons yet unknown.

He groans in protest, and tries to pull back, but you hold him firmly in place with an arm around his waist. "Finn, let the hell go of me!" he demands, almost desperately, and pushes against your chest.

You use your "divine strength" and the hand you have tangled in his hair to your advantage and pull his head close so that your mouth is a mere hair's breadth away from his ear. "Colin, love, there's a thing I've been wondering," you whisper, and you hear your voice through a haze of alcohol. It's been a while since you've had this much at once. You pause for a second, before, "Are you, by any chance, in love with me?"

He stills immediately, and you feel his heart speed up. "F-Finn, what... why..." he stutters weakly, but he still doesn't move. "Let go!" he tries again, and he pushes against your chest once more, although much weaker this time, and you have a feeling that you might be the one holding him upright now.

You don't think you've ever seen him like this before – scared and weak isn't his usual way of being. Of course you haven't ever seen how he acts in a situation quite like this, and, well, you doubt he's ever actually been in one.

He pushes a third time, and succeeds in taking one small step back, as you move your hand out of his hair to his back to join the other. He looks into your eyes intensely, and you notice him moving slowly closer to you.

He's going to kiss you, you realize suddenly. Or you're going to kiss him, whichever comes first, because you find yourself, to your slight confusion, moving closer to him as well.

It's takes the touch of your lips against his to make him realize what he's doing, it seems, and he catches you off guard as he pushes against you hard, stumbles backwards and leans against the couch, while you slide to the floor, unable to hold yourself up in your inebriated state. "What the hell am I..." he trails off. "Shit..." he mutters and walks, rather quickly into his room.

You groan, close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

---

You wake up with an enormous headache and a sharp pain in your back as you try to move. You're sitting in a corner against the wall, and no matter how hard you try you simply can't remember how the hell you got here. Last thing you remember was sitting in a bar with some anonymous female in your lap, drinking heavily.

Somehow Rory Gilmore's name pops up in your head as well, although in which connection, you have no idea. You hope to whatever god might listen that she wasn't the anonymous female. Although you do recall the girl in your lap being a red-head, so unless she's had her hair colored, which you doubt she has, it couldn't have been her.

You let out a breath of relief and get up and stretch. You sit down on a chair at the table and check the date on the newspaper just to be sure. Your back certainly feels as if you've been sitting there for around a week, but the date tells you that you've only been there one night.

There's a shuffle from the kitchen and Colin steps out with a coffee pot in one hand and two cups in the other. He sets everything down on the table with a too-loud-for-your-porcelain-ears clink and walks over to the window, pulling the blinds open, letting the sun into the apartment and you squint, headache growing.

"What's that for?" you inquire, annoyed, and cover your sensitive eyes with a hand, while reaching for the coffee pot with the other.

Colin beats you to it, however, probably afraid that you'd try to pour the coffee, while blinded by the hand. "What the hell did you do last night, Finn?" he asks, and judging from the sound of his voice, he's been up for a while.

You pause for a second, uncovering your eyes, and when you do you find a cup filled with nice hot coffee in front of you. "I drank," you settle on, after thinking for a moment, because well, what did you do last night? It's really the only thing you remember doing yesterday night.

"You drank?" he repeats, nearly missing the cup, as he shoots you a glare. "That's it?"

You pause again, and you think he might be fishing for something although you're not at all sure what it could be. "Well, I also... drank?" you try, but if his frown is anything to go by that wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"God, Finn, you don't remember anything?" he exclaims, and you squint at his raised voice, as it sounds ten times louder in your head. Raised voice, along with direct sunlight and coffee-that's-still-too-hot-to-drink is not your cup of tea early in the morning. No pun intended.

You have no idea what it is that you're supposed to remember, and you don't exactly know if he does either, judging by how taken aback with himself he looks. "Erm... what?"

He's quiet for a moment, before he sighs, resignedly falling into a chair. "Nothing," he almost whispers and shakes his head, looking tired once again.

"Colin, are you alright?" you ask, sincerely worried and confused beyond confusion. "You seem... somewhat out of character."

"Nothing is wrong; I'm perfectly fine, really."

"That's not how it looks to me," you insist. You have to confront him with it. He's been acting like this for almost all of his life – or, well, about a week, but it certainly feels like longer. No drinking, no fun, no going anywhere or doing anything, practically no talking. "There's something wrong."

"Listen. If I say nothing is wrong, nothing is wrong, okay?"

"And what the hell was is it that I was supposed to remember?"

"Nothing, Finn, you-"

"_Stop_... using that word," you snap, in a bout of seriousness. You admit you can be intimidating when needed to be. Problem is it doesn't affect him as much as it used to, seeing as he can be quite intimidating himself.

"When I say there's nothing wrong..." he trails off, leaving it hanging, and he knows that he's got the point across.

"Fine." You sigh despairingly, and cross your arms over your chest in annoyance. "I just thought we were better friends than that." With that you turn around, and it's _your_ turn to stalk into your room and hear _him_ sigh, before slamming the door shut.

Once inside, you lean against the door, angrily. Why the hell does he have to do that; what right does he have to act this particular way towards you. You have no recollection of what you did last night – well, the entire day actually - besides the obvious drinking, and you are quite comfortable not knowing too. If he reacts this strongly towards it, it must be something very bad.

With a sigh, you sit down on your bed, not bothering to lock the door, knowing he won't disturb you out of sheer irritation. Something catches your eye on your bed sheets, and you smile. If people want to hide something they should not do it black against white – which is why you pick the letter up, and open it.

_"Hello Finn._

_If you wouldn't mind doing a girl a_ _favor, please KISS Colin McCrea. Thanks in advance._

_Ciao,  
__Adonis._

_PS. I spoke to Rory Gilmore yesterday. She claims that he was _"_looking at you that way_"_. Just if you need reassurance._"

No matter how hard you think you have no idea at all who this girl is. Well, you know that Colin apparently knows her and that they seem to exchange notes, so it must be someone in one of his classes, but... that's all you know.

"Finn?" Colin's voice calls through the door and you quickly put the letter into your drawer. "Finn?" he calls again and you can practically see him roll his eyes when all you do is throw a book at the door, mumbling "g'way" into your pillow. "Finn, honestly. You're sulking now."

You stay silent and lean back against the wall, your bed is standing against. Yes, you are sulking now, but you're entitled, if you say so yourself. First you're woken up early with a major headache then you fight for absolutely no reason at all with your friend, and then that letter.

You notice the door opening, and Colin sticks his head into your room. "Please, Finn, I really need to talk to you."

When you see the look in his eyes – the same one he wore yesterday night – your eyes widen and it's all clear – too clear - in your head. Everything from Colin's not-so-well-kept secret black book that you'd forgotten all about, as drinking tends to make you forget important things to everything that happened yesterday night comes rushing into your mind, and you kissed. You're not even sure he knows that he's looking at you that way. "Fuck," you mutter, and get up from the bed, quickly gripping the bedpost when you feel a rush of dizziness wash over you. Whether from the sudden memory or yesterday's alcohol-intake, you don't know.

His look of something akin to fear turns to one of concern, and he frowns. "You okay?" he asks, and when he puts a hand on you arm in a concerned gesture, you flinch, visibly. You almost stumble over nothing and he puts his hand on your hip, reflexively, to keep you from falling – for the second time in a short while – and when he does something hits the off-switch in your brain.

You're not sure what happened in between him putting his hand on you hip and now or if anything happened at all, but all of a sudden you find yourself with lips pressed firmly against his, and your back hits the wall as you step back, holding him against you with one hand on the small of his back.

You feel, rather than hear the moan that escapes him and he's shaking a little – barely noticeable. You, yourself are glad that to have the wall behind you, or you would probably not be able to stand upright; not so much because of the kiss – you aren't exactly new to this – but the fact that it is Colin you're kissing makes it a breathtaking experience.

When you break apart, you take a deep breath and then let it out again, shakily. His left hand still rests on your hip, and when your eyes meet his, your heart skips a beat at what you see in them. He's questioning you; your intent with this thing. You don't usually roam about, kissing your best friends. He has every right to question your intentions.

You don't know what to tell him to reassure him; don't even know if you even can. If _you_ barely know what this means, how can you tell him the meaning?

He steps away and looks to the side, and for a fleeting moment you think that maybe you've read him wrong, maybe your own wants got in the way of common sense. Maybe, when he put his hand on your hip this wasn't really what he had in mind. You can help but feel a flash of fear. What if you have lost your best friend now, because of 'miscalculations' from your side? Although you doubt it will come to that, even if this wasn't his intentions.

But you could have sworn that you saw it in his eye yesterday night, when you were brought back and thrown into his arms, inebriated beyond belief.

And the diary entry you found. It could not just have been some stupid joke... Could it? He had wanted you to find it, or else he wouldn't have had let it lie on his bed. He _knew_ that you wouldn't be able to leave it alone. If he had really wanted to keep it a secret, he would have hid it somewhere he knew you wouldn't look, you reason. He knows that you're curious.

And then that almost-kiss...

He sighs and shakes his head, ready to step away and forget this ever happened, and you realize that all you have to do to make him - and you - understand what it is that you really want is kiss him again.

So you do.

---

It's most likely one of the first mornings you've ever woken up with someone next to you, half-way dressed and headache-free. You're on his bed, tangled in white bed sheets and Colin and you can feel his heartbeat through the thin clothing that separates you. "Colin..." you whisper tiredly.

You feel him move a little, and it takes him a moment to react. "Hm?" he replies, and his arm tighten around your waist, nails digging lightly into your naked back, and you drape your arm over him in response. "What time is it?"

You hesitate a moment before turning over to check the clock. It's cold where the air hits your exposed skin on your arm. "Seven thirty, love," you respond in a sleepy voice, lying back down and wonder why in the world your brain decided to wake you up this early.

"Seven thirty..." he repeats, and sighs, continuing in a regretful voice. "Damn. I have classes in an hour." He pulls back slightly opening his eyes, and looks at you.

"Y'think I'm just a blond playboy with no real future?" you blurt out, unintentionally. Well, if nothing else it will keep him lying here a little longer.

His eyes widen and there's a small bemused smile playing on his lips. "Where'd that come from?"

"Dunno. Couldn't really fall sleep tonight so I took to thinking."

His smile turns to one of amusement, and you know what's coming next. "My god, those are words I would have never thought to hear from your lips."

"Yeah, well," you shrug and grin. "About once a year the little hamster that inhabits my head jumps into its little wheel and starts walking."

"And to answer your question, of course not," he says, ignoring your answer completely. "You're not blond."

"Thank you, Colin, love. Your amusing yet sharp and poisonous wit will never cease to entertain me."

"Oh, obviously." Then he actually turns serious again, and he gives you a gentle smile - softer than you even thought he was capable of. "Well, if you can ever imagine yourself settling down I think we have ruled out the no future part as well."

"So only the playboy back?"

"Yes, but that is just another part of your irresistible charm."

"Oh, thank you, love." You lean over and kiss him and before you know it you're halfway on your back and you're not the one kissing anymore. Then he pulls away again and get up into a sitting position, leaving you bothered and out of breath. He has a talent of leaving you breathless, a feat that has not until now been achieved very often or maybe even not at all.

Before you can object he gets out of the bed and there's something about him that you never really noticed before. Something that leaves you with a feeling that you never really knew what was behind his well-kept façade; that you never really bothered to look twice.

You used to think that you knew him, but maybe there is something more that you have never really noticed before. Maybe he's not really such an ass after all. Well, you know he isn't, though even when you were alone he's always pretended to be for some reason, but now standing there, with one of those rare genuine smiles, you really don't know how much of what he shows is real, and how much is the façade.

Although you don't really think he has ever bothered to try and figure out how in the world your head works either.

"Finn, the ceiling cannot possibly be that entertaining." His voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice now that your eyes have turned to stare, intensely, at the ceiling.

"Well, Colin," you begin, seriously, laying slight weight on his name. "There is more to this particular ceiling than you might actually think."

"Really?" he inquires, mock interested, and you have a feeling he's just playing along out of boredom. "And what might that be, pray tell?"

"Look at the curves, for example," you say, pointing at non-existent curves. "Aren't they some fine curves?"

"Well, yes, I suppose you're right," he says with in a mocking voice. "It has been a long time since I last saw such exquisite curves."

"Yes, hasn't it, though? You don't see something this amazingly beautiful very often." Your eyes stray from the ceiling, and your gazes lock. You look at him as he smiles almost playfully and you have to visibly fight the smile you feel coming and keep a straight face for the fun of the game. You're serious, those curves are very pretty.

"Definitely not," he replies, and just when you think he's going to lay down beside you again, he turns around, and walks out of the bedroom. "Finn, you need coffee?"

"It's not a need that I would die if I went without, but it would definitely be a nice thing to have."

There's an eerie silence for a moment, and you wonder what he's doing out there. "I'm sorry, what?" he finally asks, sounding confused and amused.

"Yes, please."

"You're not without an owner's manual, I hope," he states, amused.

"It's very seldom I actually work anyway."

He returns to the bedroom with two cups of coffee, handing on of them to you, and sitting down on the edge of the bed with his own. He takes a sip of the hot coffee, and then takes a deep breath. "Working or not, I hope you won't sleep with other people anymore," he says with a nod.

"Ehm..." You pause unsure, and he looks at you expectantly. "Sure," you reply sincerely, but confused at the sudden change of subject that seemed to come out of nowhere. "Yeah, I... Of course not."

He smiles a real smile for once, and gets up again, satisfied.

---

Well, I guess Finn may seem more-than-slightly OOC, but fact is you can't know what other people are thinking – if they're merely putting on a façade, which doesn't show what they really are.

Although, I actually don't believe that Finn is anything less than drunk and cheerful in reality, but it was convenient to write him with a "hidden persona" so to speak. Again blame it on PlunnyThePlotBunny!

Colin too. But he was thrown into an out-of-character situation, after all. We never got any hints as to how he would act if in a situation like this.


End file.
